Let go
by TheSilverSandwich
Summary: You look down so no one can see the empty look in your eyes, but everyone knows it's there, anyway.


There she lies. Slowly falling, yet not moving at all. Oh, what you would give for her to be moving. You would give your arm, your leg, your _heart,_ if only she would just _move. _If only she would squeeze back when you hold her hand. But the thing is, no matter how hard you hope, how hard you pray, no matter how hard you fucking _beg, _she won't. A part of you wonders if she's just being stubborn like she always is, and for a moment, you allow yourself to remember the good days. Back when things weren't always so horrible. Back when her being stubborn was a good thing. A cute thing. And then you stop the train of thought in its tracks, knowing all too well the pain that comes after the momentary happiness.

"Mako, you need to let her go." They tell you.

"It's been a year," They say.

"You need to move on." They insist.

And then you wonder how they moved on so easily. How they could just forget. They claimed that they stopped visiting because it was easier to just remember the happy times. That remembering how full of life she was before _the accident _helped to ease the pain of knowing how empty she is now.

But they didn't know. No, they couldn't possibly know the pain that remembering caused you. They couldn't understand how you would rather stay locked up this cold, empty room with someone who could hardly even be considered there than remember. The _happy_ memories. You fight the urge to scoff. After so many months of feeling numb, along with the much too frequent waves of pain, _happy_ is a hard thing to fathom.

You are jolted out of your thoughts by a noise from the other end of the room. You look up, a shallow, vain hope that you aren't strong enough to squash in your chest. You see that the noise wasn't her, was only a nurse coming in to do the check-up that your certain you could do in your sleep after watching it so many times, and then look back down, refusing to let anyone see the dead look in your eyes, even though everyone knows it's there. The nurse doesn't try to make conversation, had stopped trying months ago.

She leaves after seeing that there has been no change, and the room is silent yet again.

And you suddenly wish the nurse wouldn't have left, because you see _her_ again. The same woman that is lying in the bed across the room, yet somehow, she'd standing, and she's staring straight at you. And you think '_no, not again'_ because you can't see her. She isn't really there, and your mind is playing some cruel trick on you yet again. Except, she seems so real. And she has that sparkle in her eye that only she ever could. And when she reaches out to touch your face, you swear _you_ _feel it._

So you let yourself become lost in those eyes. You let yourself slip away for that one moment, one perfect moment, and you let yourself pretend. You let yourself pretend that Korra never did go off to face Amon by herself, never did finally defeat him, only to be knocked unconscious by one of his enraged followers. You let yourself pretend that you didn't find her on the ground, breathing, _just barely, _and unconscious. You let yourself believe that she didn't stay unconscious long enough to make the doctors say she was in a coma. You let yourself believe that she proved them wrong like you always thought she would, by opening her eyes and being just fine.

Yes, you let yourself pretend. You let yourself believe, even though you know how badly it will hurt when you come crashing back to reality. Because pretending and believing has never felt so good.

And when she speaks, breaking the moment that had seemed like it lasted forever, you almost cover her mouth so you're your fragile make-believe world isn't shattered. But what she says doesn't shatter anything. It barely even makes sense.

"Let go."

Let go? You wonder. What does she mean? Why would you want to let go when this moment _right here_ is so perfect? So you ask her.

"Why?" Your own voice surprises you. It's been so long since you last used it, you almost forget what it sounds like. You didn't expect to sound so broken.

"Because I'm already gone. The only thing that's left of me is what you see in that bed across you, and even that won't be there for much longer."

"What? What are talking about?" You refuse to let yourself think of what she might mean, because what it seems like she's about to say can't be true.

"They're going to pull the plug, Mako. The world can't keep waiting for their Avatar to wake up. It's time to let another one take my place."

And just like that, your world crashes down around you. A million thoughts are running through your mind at once, but only one stands out. _No. _So you voice it, not knowing what else to do but scream.

"No! They can't do that!" You shout, even though you know they can. "It's not their decision to make!" you scream, even though you know it is. "What about us? What about everything we were supposed to do? We were supposed to have a family. We were supposed to travel the world together while I helped you save it. We were supposed to grow old together. We were meant for each other." You say. The reality of the situation hits you full force. There is nothing you can do, nothing you can say to change it. "_We were meant for each other." _You whisper, before finally breaking down, pulling the last shred of hope you had with you.

When they take her body out of the room the next day, after you feel like you couldn't possibly cry one more tear, couldn't possibly scream and sob any longer, only then do you make your decision.

After making your way out of the hospital in a daze, you change into your nicest suit. You go to the flower stand across your street and buy a single rose. You make your way down to her freshly dug grave, wait for the people who are paying their respects to Avatar Korra to leave, and stare at the headstone.

It's not the kind of headstone she would have chosen, you think to yourself as you kneel down and place the rose in front of it, next to everyone else's flowers. It's too fancy. She would have liked something much more simple, and you briefly wonder who picked it out. And then you lie down next to it, staring up at the clouds. You used to look at clouds with her, you remember. And with that one memory, a thousand more follow. Things you never allowed yourself to remember because it hurt too much. But now you welcome the pain. You know it will be over soon.

You conjure up your happiest memory with her before taking the knife out of your pocket, and plunging it deep into your chest.

*Ehem* This is my first time writing aangst, so it's probably not the best thing ever. Also, I was too lazy to google how far we were in medical technology around the 20's, so I don't even know if there would be a plug to pull, but meh. Just go with it.


End file.
